


to burn it all (for you)

by malafelis



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Other, Tenderness, angst that sees the beginnings of resolution, minor wounds by time lord standards, not to me not if it's you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malafelis/pseuds/malafelis
Summary: White noise filled the Doctor’s ears as she stepped forward, rage beginning to take its hold. “This stops,” she said, as commandingly as possible. “Now.”The Master turned his head, slowly, not another inch of him moving. A cruel smile played around his mouth. “So tell me, Doctor.” He said her name almost triumphantly. “What are you going to do about it?”in which, the doctor and the master talk about missy. after the shrinking-people-scene in spyfall pt 2, and ignores everything after it.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 428





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loved spyfall as is, but this is a sort of imaginary best-case scenario where the master's redemption arc is recognized. not beta'd, we have typos like men. 
> 
> more fun best enemies content on my tumblr! whoify.tumblr.com :^)

The Master strode out of the nineteenth century exhibit hall, throwing the doors open with a flourish and ducking out of sight almost instantly. The Doctor scrambled to her feet, and, with one last, helpless look at the stricken faces of the remaining onlookers, surged after him. 

Tumbling out into the street, she squinted her eyes against the bright, white light of the pale sky. People were bustling every which way, jostling her as she stood motionless, scanning haphazardly for the Master. Bonnets and tophats and massive dresses crowded her vision: His identifiable purple suit was now less conspicuous than her own. It had been only moments, but he had a knack for getting away exactly when she didn’t want him to. 

_Not this time._

The Doctor pressed forward into the throng of passerby, ignoring the heated looks and “ _Oi!”_ s thrown her way as she stepped on toes and shouldered her way through gaps. Throwing a “Sorry!” over her shoulder would break her focus. 

Right as she tripped over the walking stick of a middle-aged, wealthy looking man, she heard a scream. 

“Sorry, that’ll be me!” she said as the man opened his mouth to apprehend her. Dashing in the direction of the commotion, she hardly had time to wonder if she was running straight into a trap. 

Well, no trap by the Master had ever bested her before. Why start worrying now?

She skidded to a stop in a clearing at the mouth of an alleyway. The Master was at the center of a small gathering of bystanders, the TCE pointed at the forehead of a young woman. His face was twisted into an ugly sneer, impervious to the pleading of the onlookers around him. Oblivious to the Doctor’s presence, he jabbed the device against the woman’s head, backing her into the wall. A series of please tumbled from her lips, her hands raised in surrender. 

His hand was shaking, almost imperceptibly. 

White noise filled the Doctor’s ears as she stepped forward, rage beginning to take its hold. “This stops,” she said, as commandingly as possible. “Now.”

The Master turned his head, slowly, not another inch of him moving. A cruel smile played around his mouth. “So tell me, _Doctor_.” He said her name almost triumphantly. “What are you going to do about it?”

His eyes darted between her and his captive; the frozen onlookers. The tremor in his hand was becoming more pronounced. 

She was done playing games. 

The Doctor surged forward, grabbing the Master’s outstretched arm and wrestling it out of the way. He made to catch her other arm, pulling her off balance. A blast shot out of the end of the TCE, shooting up straight into the air. A furious snarl left the Master’s mouth as the Doctor yelled, “ _RUN!”_

The nineteenth century natives scattered, their shouts echoing among the cobbled streets, buffeting the pair’s twisted embrace in their frenzy. 

The Master wrenched his arm free and seized the lapels of the Doctor’s jacket, pulling her close. She shot out an arm and placed her hand, not gently, in the middle of his chest, keeping them each at arms’ distance.

She could feel the double beat of his hearts.

They were at an impasse. Catching her breath, the Doctor said lowly, “I think we need to have a chat.”

The Master scoffed, letting go of her jacket with a slight shove. “The feeling _isn’t_ mutual.”

“I didn't ask.” She grabbed his arm once again and dragged him into the alleyway, out of sight of the prying eyes of history. The corridor was narrow and tall, one side brick and the other stone, the pale light of the dreary sky above casting the scene in a weak shadow. The Master resisted, but only slightly, seemingly curious about what she had to say. 

She stopped them about three-quarters down the alley, turning so her back was to the opening. The Master crossed his arms haughtily, glaring at her in what looked like he hoped to be a bored manner. She knew he was anything but. 

“Right. Explain yourself,” she said, matching his crossed arms. 

He huffed, eyebrows shooting into his hairline. “And why should I, Doctor? What do I _owe_ to you?”

She couldn't help it— her mouth dropped open. “What do _you_ owe _me_? Not what this was about, actually, but now that you mention it, _Master_ —” She felt her anger rise again as she stepped forward. 

He stepped back at the same pace, smug smile returned. “Say that again, _Doctor_. My name, say it again.”

She tilted her head slowly to the side, taking him in.

“Koschei.”

The Master lunged forwards angrily, and the Doctor tried to stumble back out of his way. He was faster, arm shooting out and seizing her around the throat, pushing her into the wall to the right. She wouldn’t use the word _slammed,_ exactly, but it was close. 

His face was millimeters from hers. 

This hurt.

Not his hand around her throat; her respiratory bypass was working fine. But his face was _so close_ to hers, and it was screwed up in a snarl of hate. She’d been the target of that expression dozens of times over the last thousand years, and yet, now, it shattered her more than ever before.

Crossing her eyes slightly, she inspected his face. His eyes were manic, his eyebrows pushed into a stony line, his mouth pulled back in a sneer. The hand on her throat wasn’t tight— just secure. She could get away if she really wanted to. Could overpower him, even. This wasn't a surprising observation, that his intent wasn’t lethal— the Master had always had a pathological opposition to causing her any real harm. Pulling her away at the last second, catching her before she fell, aiming the gun just over her shoulder. Even when he didn’t literally drag her out of harm’s way, he always seemed to leave some loophole that allowed her to escape from whatever disaster he’d caused. She’d never worked out whether that was on purpose.

No, his loose hand on her throat was not surprising.

What _was_ surprising was his silence. Ever the man of words and plans and distractions and monologuing-until-you’ve-realized-it’s-too-late-to-stop-him, his stillness now was unnerving. 

Moving her gaze to his, she said, tonelessly, “What happened to you?”

He blinked. “ _Happened?_ Doctor, you haven't the faintest idea what I’ve—“

“Then enlighten me,” the Doctor snapped, cutting off his surely arrogant spiel. “Because the last time we crossed, _this wasn’t you._ Seventy years in London, did that mean nothing to you? Did _I_ mean nothing to you, on that solar farm?” Her voice neither broke nor wavered. She wondered what happened in the universe where it did.

The Master’s face twisted more. “You’re the only one who’s ever meant _anything_ to me,” he spat. The words were not said kindly or as a confession, but hurled at her with menace. 

She seized his wrist, hard, harder than he was holding her throat. “Then explain to me this situation we’re in,” she said, pouring her rising fury into her words, “and why you walked away that day.”

His eyebrows rose just a hair. “You don’t know.” He wrenched his arm from her grasp and took a step back, taking her in. 

“No, I _don’t,_ as I keep—“

“I wanted to stand with you.” He said the words plainly, as though separate from himself. As though they might not change everything.

When she offered no response, he kept going. “I tried. The other me, he killed me.” A pause. “I had every intent of going back to you.”

The Doctor felt her breath stuck in her throat. 

She’d never known. 

All this time, and in her last moments, she’d thought the Master had betrayed her again, after playing her for seventy years. She couldn’t detect the typical hint of deceit in his eyes, and he’d dropped the angry, manic act from before. 

She believed him. 

But this didn't explain— _this,_ the way he was acting now, the leaving her friends to die on a doomed plane and shrinking strangers left and right and throwing her against the wall. Something was still missing.

“So why this?” she asked, and now her voice did betray her. “What’s made you change your mind now?”

His gaze, directed at a spot over her right shoulder, hardened. “I went home.”

She scoffed. “Gallifrey did this to you? Thought we were over that.”

“I burned it,” he said quietly, almost in surprise. The Doctor wondered if she was even meant to hear it.

“Come again?” she said lightly, hearts picking up speed.

“Your confession dial,” the Master said, swiftly looking her right in the eye. “Rassilon had it sitting in the council room, like some sort of _trophy_.” He spat the word as if it was vulgar.

The Doctor sighed, raising her eyes to the grey sky above them. “How do you even know about that. That doesn’t _matter,_ you shouldn’t know about that.”

“Oh, they told me,” he chuckled, stepping closer to her once again. “I _made_ them tell me. And then I made them _pay_.”

“That wasn’t your job.” Her voice was hard.

“Four and a half _billion_ years, and it wasn’t my _job_?!”

“That was before the vault, that was before _everything!_ You could’ve left it, you could’ve moved on! _I’ve_ had to!”

“No, they _DESERVED IT!”_

Their voices had risen to desperate shouts. The Doctor took a deep breath and turned away from him, bringing a hand to her head.

“So you— you ‘burned Gallifrey,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean, because they locked me in my confession dial.” It sounded so ridiculous when she said it out loud. She hoped he noticed.

“I burned Gallifrey because they _tortured_ you.” His whisper was a contrast to his tone moments before. He strode forward and seized her shoulders, turning her to face him. “And now—“

The Doctor’s eyebrows raised.

“And now I can’t stop,” he whispered, a tremor in his voice.

His hands on her shoulders shook, and the Doctor awkwardly, tentatively, placed her hands on top of his wrists.

“You went back on everything we’d done for just _one_ moment… and fell back to square one,” she murmured mater-of-factly, ending with a sigh. 

The Master nodded jerkily, not meeting her eye. He sucked in a great breath as he gripped her shoulders even more tightly. “But I— I d-did it for _you._ All for you,” he stammered.

The Doctor shook her head, amazed. “Why would you think I would want that?”

“I would— I would burn it all for you.”

“I never asked for that.” 

The Master looked at her, openly, earnestly, and she tipped her head back against the brick, grappling with the situation in her mind. Could she do this all again? Work with a Master who seemed beyond redemption and fashion him into an ally— a friend? It had taken seventy years the last go round, and obviously their work had been left unfinished. More than anything, she wanted to believe that she could do it. That _they_ could do it, together. Hurt battled hope in her mind, the hurt that the Master seemed to cause her again and again without remorse warring against the hope that he could become better. _That she could have him back._

Sighing again, she leveled the master with her gaze. She still wasn’t sure what she was about to say. Whatever it was would change them forever. 

“Can we try again?”

The Master’s eyes, which had been cast downwards, snapped up to meet hers. 

“Please?” she added. 

His eyes were wide and disbelieving, and the Doctor swore she could see a shadow of Missy there. A shadow of the Master who had wanted to come back to her. 

“I think— I think I would like to try that,” he breathed.

“It won’t be easy. You’re worse, now.”

“I know.”

With that, the Master pulled her into a crushing hug. The Doctor worried, for a moment, that _crushing_ was exactly what it was supposed to be, but when his arms stayed steady, she tentatively slid her own around his shoulders. 

They stayed like this for some time, shoppers and merchants and aristocrats bustling by just meters away. 

She pulled away first, hands still delicately on his shoulders. 

He smiled at her. Not the manic smile he’d been plastering on earlier, but the same soft smile she’d on him as O. 

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you so much” 

She smiled at the echo of her own words.

Their faces were close again, and the absence of his hand on her throat was promising. The Doctor could feel his quiet breath on her lips, and if she pretended, she could almost forget every reason she had to pull away. 

The Master hovered right in front of her. Their noses were touching.

Almost. 

“If you do what you are about to do,” she breathed, “I will never forgive you.”

He huffed a laugh, pulling away slightly, and instead rested his forehead against hers.

“Contact,” he whispered.

She laughed softly and rolled her eyes, basking in this semblance of having her closest friend back. This is what they could have. This is what they could strive for. 

He pulled his head away as the Doctor removed her hands from his shoulders. She inhaled sharply as she saw the smear of red on her left hand. 

“You’re bleeding, why are y— oh my god, she shot you, I completely forgot, she _shot_ you!”

The Master took one look at her shocked face and laughed, the first real laugh she’d heard from him this whole time. “Yes, Doctor, she shot me; I daresay I’ll be alright”

“Nope. With me. We’re going back to your TARDIS, I’m getting you fixed up. I know for a fact you’re not within twenty-four hours of regeneration.”

It was the Master’s turn to roll his eyes, sighing amicably as the Doctor pulled him back out of the alleyway. _This isn’t Missy,_ she reminded herself, striding down the cobbled street. _This isn’t seventy years into redemption. We have to work back to that._

But, with his hand in hers, pulling him back to his TARDIS, she could almost pretend they were already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is optional and much more self indulgent. comments and kudos always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some portrayal of blood and bullet wounds, but nothing too graphic

Sitting in the confines of the Master’s TARDIS, still disguised as a modest Australian cabin, the Doctor dropped her coat on the floor and pulled a human first aid kit onto her lap. The Master looked at it and let out a scoff. 

“You think that’ll do anything for _us?”_

“It was in _your_ TARDIS.”

“Yeah, well, I was passing as human, wasn't I?”

Their banter felt easy, natural, not at all laced with the malice it had contained as of late; nor did they feel the need to walk on eggshells as they each might have a regeneration ago. The Master had shed his heavy wool coat and scarf upon entering the TARDIS, and now he shrugged off his waistcoat as the Doctor rifled through the contents of the first aid kit. She tried to focus, maybe too intently, on the various bottles and boxes and bandages, trying not to notice the Master’s gaze on her. It was going to take some time for that to feel normal again. 

The Doctor emerged with tweezers, cotton, and a bottle of antiseptic, which the Master eyed warily. “Right then, unbutton your shirt a bit, we need to see that shoulder!” she said cheerily, trying to ignore the fact that this was the most intimate setting they’d found themselves in— well, _centuries,_ at least. It had certainly been multiple thousands of years since she’d tended to his wounds. 

Clearing her throat slightly, she tried to figure out where to look as he shrugged his shirt off one shoulder, carefully peeling the bloody fabric away from his skin. “How bad is it, doctor?” he asked with a wry smile, looking up to meet her gaze. 

The Doctor rolled her eyes at his pun (he was doing _puns_ instead of _mean_ already, that was good), and suddenly became aware of just how _vulnerable_ he seemed, sitting there with his shirt half off and a bloodied arm, waiting for her to help him. She swallowed, reaching for her tools, then abruptly stopped, pausing to roll up her sleeves. The Master watched with a peculiar smile on his face as she struggled to get them over her elbows. 

She picked up a piece of cotton wet with antiseptic and began dabbing at the blood on his arm. He dropped his head and let out a hiss as she grazed over one of the wounds. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, momentarily pulling her hand away. There were three wounds: Two where bullets had sunk into his flesh, and one where he’d been grazed. She continued her task of gently clearing the blood away, leaving a pile of orangey-red cotton balls on the floor. 

“Right,” the Doctor said quietly, because the atmosphere seemed to call for it, “this part isn’t going to be pleasant.” She reached for the tweezers. The Master eyed them and sighed. 

“Go on, then. Get it over with.”

She reached up and began her work of dislodging bullet number one. She could see a muscle twitching in the Master’s jaw as he clenched his teeth against the pain. An occasional hiss of discomfort left his teeth as the Doctor maneuvered the tweezers; she kept up a murmured stream of _I’m sorrys_ and _it’ll be okays_ and _almost finished._ The clink of metal against metal filled the small space between them.

“ _Ah,”_ the Master choked as she pulled the first bullet free. His hand shot out to grab purchase on the first thing it could find, which happened to be the Doctor’s hand, braced on his wounded arm. She stilled for a moment, but dropped the bullet in the space between them and moved onto the next, the Master squeezing her free hand tightly. 

For some minutes, the only sounds were the Master’s sharp inhales and the Doctor’s murmured condolences, the bustle outside made quiet by their closeness or maybe by the TARDIS itself. Pale light filtered in through the dusty windows, illuminating the Doctor’s hands as she worked and reflecting the blood that stained them. This brought her back to their days on Gallifrey, tending to each other’s scraped knees and bruised elbows as children, although thankfully no bullets had ever been involved back then. These memories comforted her as she worked, his skin warm against her own cool hand, sticky with his blood. The pressure of his hand on hers was comforting, too.

She’d forgotten what it was like to be comforted by him. 

“Got it,” the Doctor proclaimed with a wince, pulling free bullet number two. The Master’s hand clenched her own, a groan of pain escaping him. “Sorry. Worst part’s over,” she said as she gathered more cotton and antiseptic, cleaning the wounds. He let out a shuddery sigh and picked up his head, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He left his hand on hers.

“You didn't have to do this.” _Thank you._

“I don’t mind.” _For you, I’d do anything._

She sniffed, extracting her hand so she could bandage him properly. She made quick work of it, pressing them down securely (maybe leaving her hands there a half second longer than they needed to be) and pulling his shirt back over his shoulder.

“Good as new! You’ll want a new shirt, though, as this one’s now got bullet holes in it,” she said, pinching the fabric.

“Dunno. Think it suits me,” he replied, inspecting the damage. 

“Right,” the Doctor said, standing and wiping her hands on her trousers. She offered the Master her hand. “We’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fueled by comments and kudos~ come hang out at whoify.tumblr.com


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